


Separation Anxiety

by KellyJade



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26184637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellyJade/pseuds/KellyJade
Summary: Gideon wakes up and isn't alone.AKA - when someone important is reading your thoughts, it is very very difficult to keep your dignity intact.Post HtN ish
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 11
Kudos: 184





	Separation Anxiety

**Author's Note:**

> I read this whole series in a weekend and came away very tired but full of vigor, joy and feelings.
> 
> I wrote some of the feelings - here they are!
> 
> (Note: This is not entirely accurate in some details of how everything went down/ended, but I hope you enjoy regardless.)

Gideon wakes up suddenly, in a truly and _thoroughly_ upsetting amount of pain.

Firstly, she throws up noisily on the cold floor beneath her. The bile burns in her throat, and she tastes blood.

She opens an eye. The resulting light seems to sear through every tendril of her brain, and she groans involuntarily, the pain of the sensory input enough to threaten round two of vomit.

She holds that back with incredible difficulty, and becomes aware of a couple things.

One – she is lying on a white tile floor, in a white hallway, with godawful florescent lighting. It is empty but for the numerous shocking swaths of blood, streaked across the floor, and the walls. Sections of the white are cracked away, as if they have been hammered away at, or hit with a series of wrecking balls. Rubble mixes with pools of blood on the floor. The scene is… familiar – the feeling of dread battles in her stomach with the nausea and pain.

She is in the space station. Still in the fucking space station.

“Fuuuuck,” says Gideon.

Which – sends her thoroughly into the throes of realization number two. That is not her voice, and this is not her body.

“Fuuuuuuck,” comes the word again, through Harrow’s cracked lips.

Third – and here the very act of speaking, or thinking, or … breathing? – brings on another round of blistering pain. And again, Gideon heaves a disturbing amount of Harrow’s bile and blood onto the floor.

It’s not any type of pain that Gideon has felt before. It’s _soul_ pain. It feels like everything that makes up her consciousness is trying to burn itself alive and stab itself to death and drown itself and –

One more heaving round of bloody spittle. What the fuck is happening to her??

**Griddle. You have to pull yourself together.**

The sheer shock of hearing this voice inside her head causes Gideon to freeze, mid lurch of the stomach.

It’s Harrow’s voice.

**Yes, it is me,** says the voice again.

Gideon can’t help it – she lifts herself shaking from the tile, propped up on one weak ass arm, and looks around. Jet black hair falls into her eyes, and idiotically, she looks around the hallway for the exact same body she is inhabiting. Searching for the source of the voice, that scratchy, achingly familiar voice…

**I’m in your head, Griddle** , says Harrow. **Or my head, rather.**

A wave of fresh pain ripples through the shock, and Gideon can’t help howling with the agony, and she feels like this body’s brain is trying to escape it’s skull – she worries for a moment it has, as she feels hot liquid pulsing out her nose, her ears…

**You have to control that,** says Harrow’s voice sternly.

Hot anger mingles with the pain. “OH I’m sorry, I’m clearly doing this on purpose because it’s sooo enjoyable-"

**Griddle,** and the voice is … actually genuine sounding. Harrow’s tone is softer, if still urgent. **I will explain why this is happening, but first – just breathe. In, slowly, and out – twice. Come on, Gideon.**

That sounds so fucking over simplistic and stupid that she almost just tells the voice to shove it, but Harrow said _Gideon_.

In – slowly. And out. And the pain doesn’t really go away… but slowly, very slowly, Gideon begins to get a grip on the sensory world again. The hallways swims into focus a bit more, and she becomes aware more of the body she inhabits. Shaking, she pulls Harrow’s little bird bone sack into a seated position. Breathe in, and then out. “Okay,” she says, her words tentative, testing the thin ice she’s settled on to. “Okay. Harrow?”

It’s a weird moment. She has so much to say. It’s _Harrow_ – but she can’t find the words.

**I know,** says the voice, still gentle. **There’s a lot I have to say to you, as well, but we don’t have a lot of time.**

That sinks in. “Holy shit, can you read my thoughts? Don’t read my thoughts!” Gideon feels suddenly very exposed, and is there a way to block off feelings? Or certain thoughts from moments that were definitely just hormonal, when you’re a teenager surrounded by the geriatric and only like ONE girl who’s kind of pretty in a twisted sort of way, well sometimes things just occur in your brain and oh my god Harrow stop this, stop reading this -

**Calm down, maniac,** comes the voice and oh god, that freaking note of amusement makes Gideon want to catch on fire. **You’re going to make yourself throw up again if you start to panic.**

The wave of nervous nausea that arises in her stomach brings the matter at hand back into focus (thank god.) She breathes in, deep, and out. And “Okay, Harrow. What the fuck?”

**Right,** says Harrow. **Here is the situation. I’ve found your body.**

Gideon stiffens, and the billion questions that rise up she pushes down, waiting for the voice in her head to continue.

**It has been here the whole time,** says Harrow, with some bitterness. **Astoundingly obvious – The Emperor denied finding any trace of you, for reasons I am uncertain of. I have my suspicions, but… Regardless – he took your body, and hid it. I believe the wards around it are based on the theorems that protect the Lyctors from being detected.**

Gideon’s mind whirs. “Okay,” she says. “Putting aside whatever creepy reason that God is keeping my body… what are we going to do about it? We’re a Lyctor. You absorbed me. You can’t… un absorb me.”

Obviously Gideon cannot see Harrow, but from tone alone, she can imagine the exact determined glint in her eye as she speaks. **I can too un absorb you,** says the necromancer firmly.

Oh brother. “Actually I’m pretty sure you _can’t_. I’ve been in your head this whole time, you know, and I remember. God said – “

**I know what God said,** snaps Harrow. **He’s wrong. Or was trying to dissuade me… but I’m certain. I can. And I will. We’re getting you back into your body, Griddle.**

Gideon’s thoughts race – the stimulus just all getting to be too much. She shifts, and the movement proves to be one twig too much on the bundle. She heaves again, and blood splatters out her mouth onto the tile.

“Ugh, how do you have so much _stuff_ in you?”

**Well if you don’t stop pitching it out, that won’t be the case,** replies Harrow with a hard edge in her voice. **_Breathe._**

In, and out.

**Good,** continues Harrow **. I am sorry about the pain. I struggled for a long time to be able to communicate with you – I have been in the back of our shared consciousness, forming the beginning of the separation that allows us to both occupy this space. However… the necromancy involved to do this is stretching the limits of our thanergy.**

Gideon spits a mouthful of old blood onto the tile bitterly. “I miss being _not_ a spooky twerp.”

**Charming,** comments Harrow dryly, before continuing. **But it is our reality, I’m afraid. We are one, shared, spooky twerp, and it turns out the ancient magic that made us this way _really_ does not like that I am prying us apart.**

Gideon takes a moment to process this, slowly exhaling, her breath whistling slightly as it pushes by the slight bow in Harrow’s lip. “So,” she says. “Lyctorhood is making me puke your guts out.”

**An apt, if intensely simplified summary,** confirms Harrow curtly. **Until we get you back in your body. Up. I can only hold us apart for so long.**

Struggling to her feet, Gideon is careful to breathe carefully and deeply – but as soon as she is upright, the pain overwhelms her and she folds over at the waist, wheezing and choking. She presses a palm against her face and it comes away red with blood. “Harrow,” she says, horrified. “It’s coming out of your _eyes_.” A wave of nausea and she throws up again. “Oh I _hate_ this.”

**It’s not great for me either, Griddle,** says the voice tersely. **Do you know what it’s like to _feel_ someone else vomit, using your body?**

“Always trying to one up me,” grumbles Gideon, and she steadies herself against the wall.

**Good. Go ahead and left. Quickly.**

As they move through the white, clinical halls of the station, Gideon bites down hard on Harrow’s thin lower lip, definitely causing some damage, but the taste of blood and the sharp pain feels almost a relief, as it’s not caused by some butthurt ancient magic that wants her sucked back into Harrow like a good little soul battery.

It’s maybe a good thing that the combined tasks of walking and not hurling are pretty much capping Gideon’s capacity of thought. She concentrates hard on listening to the occasional direction of ‘Straight here’ or ‘Through the door’ that will sound in her head, and following it. Simple.

But – it’s _Harrow’s_ voice. Harrow is here, with her. And no matter how sturdily she polices her own thoughts, there’s a warmness in her chest that isn’t just more blood bubbling up to spit on the tile. The warmth swells, when she takes a moment to feel the presence in her head, recognize with glee the consciousness of the awkward little goblin directing her.

**Left,** says Harrow, in an odd tone. **And you’re the goblin** , she adds after a moment, her voice funny sounding, and Gideon’s stomach twists.

She remembers chiding Ianthe about her little crush – remembers her own teasing tone, _‘I know the signs of Nonagesimitis.’_ Remembers her own damn warning – Harrow is already in love and it’s really stupid to pine away over her because it’s never going to happen…

There’s a funny feeling in her head – no words, but a little stutter of surprise and oh perfect, Harrow is obviously _listening to this._

Oh God. This is worse than when she’d found out about Palamedes and Dulcinea. Her cheeks burn and she wishes she’d just throw up again.

**Don’t throw up again,** orders Harrow, and before Gideon can die of embarrassment, she adds in a serious tone. **It’s here, Griddle. Through the door to your right.**

Heart pounding, Gideon turns to face the door. Okay. Her body. Okay.

Harrow’s voice is impatient. **Go through the door.**

And Gideon wants to. For sure – her own body – no more cramped, scrawny necrohost ( ** _Hey_** , says Harrow) – of course she misses it. But…

There’s a pause as Gideon’s thoughts race, and Harrow chases them.

**Gideon.** The warning in Harrow’s voice is unmistakable, and well, Gideon guesses a plus of having her mind on display is she doesn’t really have to explain herself.

She does anyway, though. Because god, if Harrow heard that shit about the Nonagesimitis, how much worse could it get? “I don’t want you to die,” says Gideon plainly. “I’m… Harrow, I’m afraid if you try this you’ll die.”

**Gideon,** repeats Harrow, tone low and dangerous. **I can do this. And I’m going to. Go through that door.**

“I’m already dead, Harrow,” says Gideon. “You know that was my decision, right?”

There is an angry wave of something, in her head, and Gideon lurches forward, coughing. She wipes her mouth and it comes away red.

The feeling of rage stutters and fades. **I’m sorry, Griddle. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But,** and her voice is strained with something like desperation. **I won’t live in that reality you created, when you died. I can’t. You know what I –**

“Yes,” interrupts Gideon, with some ire. “I know what you did, alright. Fought so hard against using my damn sacrifice for you that you weakened yourself, put yourself in danger because of it, actually gave yourself _serious brain damage_ –“

**My brain heals,** says Harrow stubbornly.

A growl begins in Gideon’s throat, and she spends a satisfying moment crafting exactly the choice curse words she’s about to subject her necromancer to, before she bites her tongue.

Because it’s not even _her_ damn tongue. She sighs. “I’m not going to yell at you, Harrow. You already know what I’d say.”

Harrow’s tone is very level, and that’s almost scarier than when she was angry. **Go into the room, Griddle** , she says.

But Gideon isn’t going to go into the room.

**Don’t be like this, you imbecile –**

Gideon will not let Harrow risk her life for this, not now, not ever.

**Why not??!!**

“Because-!”

Gideon cuts herself off, the words halfway out her mouth before she swallows them back up. Not like Harrow doesn’t know. Not like Harrow didn’t see it.

There’s a very conspicuous silence, in her head. A quiet.

Oh, fuck it, thinks Gideon.

“Because I love you, idiot. And you’re not dying for me.”

A very long pause. Very awkward. Very embarrassing.

And then – **Sorry about this, Griddle.**

And Gideon howls in pain, vomits a fountain of blood, and passes out.

**

She comes to, and feels really weird. Eyes blinking, Gideon watches the floor swim back into focus.

She tries to groan.

And doesn’t.

What the….

Her vision adjusts, with some more blinking. But Gideon isn’t doing the blinking.

And Gideon feels the body she inhabits rise to its feet, feels it shake with pain, feels blood drip out of its nose.

Harrow’s nose. 

**I’m sorry about this, Gideon.**

Oh no.

**I can’t hear you, but I think you can hear me, still.**

Oh nooooo.

Gideon watches, helpless, just a soul, floating in nothing, as Harrow walks to the door, and opens it.

The room is dimly lit, but Gideon can see the bodies.

There’s no ceremony to it, this room of bodies. There's no golden caskets, no ethereal lights. The bodies are strewn across the floor. Harrow does not linger her gaze on any them, but from the brief flashes Gideon sees, they are perfectly preserved – cold, blue and whole, limbs askew.

She would wonder who the fuck these nameless bodies were, if she wasn’t in a blind panic about Harrow finding her own.

She can hear Harrow’s thoughts – she can hear her necromancer search the room, can feel wards being sensed. Can feel it as Harrow breaks the wards – effortlessly, which is insane because they are GOD’S wards, but whatever.

Her body swims into view, as the wards break. She sees red hair. She feels Harrow’s heart quicken.

No no no no no…

**Gideon.**

The voice is gentle, and Gideon feels so helpless.

**I know you’re scared. But I know what I’m doing. I’ll see you soon, okay?**

Fuck off, Gideon thinks.

**One more thing,** and now Harrow’s voice sounds reluctant, which peaks Gideon’s curiosity, because of course it does.

**I could read your thoughts,** continues Harrow plainly. **Which I know made you uncomfortable, and that was unfair, so.**

There is a moment where Gideon waits, confused. _So_ , what?

And a wall hits her. A wall Harrow is letting her see, a wall Harrow has let down.

And… oh. Oh.

Harrow loves her.

It’s not one thought – not one memory, or one feeling. It isn’t one specific anything, but rather just an overwhelming, unequivocal truth. She feels the fierce, protective and uncontrollable love that Harrow has for her, feels the unbearable pain when she died and left Harrow alone, feels the grim determination to bring her back _no matter what_ -

The wave lets up, and Harrow’s voice comes again.

**You can be mad at me later, Gideon,** she says. **See you on the flipside, sugarlips.**

And the world dissolves, explodes, disintegrates completely.

And somehow, that's okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked! Please let me know what you think!


End file.
